Light and Dark
by Elf Princess Bloom
Summary: Slashy goodness with just the slightest hint of repetition. hope you enjoy.


DISCLAIMER:no, i don't own them.  
  
also, a little warning for those of you who have read other fics by me, this one's a little different. in a wierd way.so if you don't like it, nah! sometimes rules need to be broken.  
  
Two boys. One dark haired, one light. A lot of hate, more than a lot of passion, and just the tiniest bit of love. The perfect recipe for disaster, happiness, sadness, loneliness and togetherness .  
  
One kiss in the library turns to two by the lake. Two by the lake turns to hours in a broom closet. Hours in a broom closet turns to fucking in the astronomy tower, and fucking in the astronomy tower turns into love at midnight.  
  
No one knows, and for a long time happiness and togetherness are the only things they see. Then one day it happens. Sneaking around would be useless now. Four faces stare back at them, on their backs at the back of the abandoned room. Two look shocked, one angry, and one face is laughing, always laughing.  
  
Draco thinks briefly of punching Blaise, of wiping that smug look off pretty boy's face, because he knew all along. Draco knew he knew, but wasn't sure if Harry knew, or cared. Harry never knows much of anything when he's happy. Which is okay, because Harry isn't happy that often.  
  
No words are spoken and they leave before Draco can intimidate them into not telling. It wouldn't matter, Slytherins tell on everyone, even each other, circumstances permitting, and Draco has just broken some of their rules.  
  
"What do we do?" Harry asks, eyes widely innocent, hoping the storm will pass quickly but knowing it won't.  
  
Draco doesn't say anything. He knows what must be done, knows he must make things appear different, because reputation comes before love and Harry and his own happiness. He also understands that for Harry's safety and his, this must end, here and now. Harry won't understand. Harry will want to fight, because he's always fighting for something, but Draco is afraid of fighting. It never ends in his favor. So Draco has made a decision, and Draco will stick to it. Because Draco knows what he has to do.  
  
Harry interprets the silence correctly, taking note of the way the slim, lean body tenses up as he places a hand on it. He wonders why Draco is so afraid and is suddenly angry with him, for not caring enough when Harry cares too much, for not punching Blaise in the face, for being a coward. If this was what breaking up felt like, he never wanted to be a part of something so beautiful again.  
  
Harry gets up, aware that Draco is purposefully not looking at him, and leaves, the door slamming behind him like thunder.  
  
Later, while Draco is avoiding everybody, he thinks about things. Mainly, he thinks about the Harry things. He thinks about Harry's hair, so beautifully messy, completely different from his. Harry's eyes, the way they used to look at him, the way they'll look at others someday. Harry's slow, careful hands and his fast, careless heart. He thinks about how all that almost broke down his shield, and wonders if he even wants the shield at all anymore.  
  
Days and weeks and a month or two pass, and suddenly it's Spring, and everything has come back to life. Everything except two boys, one light haired, and one dark.  
  
The Slytherins have forgiven Draco for wandering, because he is, after all, their leader, and who else would take care of them? Blaise, maybe. He could have got the job done with perfectly practiced smirks and calm serene hatred. He's the only one disappointed that Draco is back. The only one who knows that Draco doesn't want to be back, not really.  
  
"If you go back to him, I'll still respect you," he says one day, because he finds himself alone with Draco.  
  
"But Blaise, you've never respected me," Draco points out, sarcastically.  
  
"Yes I have. Always. I just don't like you knowing it."  
  
Draco thinks about this for awhile. The next day, Harry receives an owl. It's the same owl that used to send him notes about meeting places to do things with somebody he doesn't like to think about anymore. He moves to crumble the parchment up and throw it, but the owl nips at him harshly, drawing blood that drips down onto the waiting paper.  
  
Harry opens it and stares at the single sentence on the page. 'Are you still mad?' Well, is he? He can't decide. Maybe he is, because Draco is a bastard, a scared, proud bastard. But maybe he isn't, because along with being a bastard, Draco is beautiful, inside and out, upside down, backward and forward, and in Harry's heart.  
  
He looks up to find a pair of grey eyes watching him, waiting for some news of his fate, but all Harry does is crumble up the paper and shoo away the owl. He needs time to think, and to not think, and when he gets frustrated, to think about not thinking, because all the other thoughts hurt.  
  
Draco understands, because unlike Harry, he knows what it's like to think too much, to make the right decision, and have it turn out to be the wrong decision. Draco hopes Harry will be smarter than him, will make the right choice, whatever is right for him, because Draco thinks he's not really sure what that is anymore.  
  
Draco goes back to the empty classroom, back to the last place that saw them together. Not to think, because the word and its concept has lost all meaning. What Draco came here to do is something he's never done before. Pray. To who or for what exactly, he doesn't know. What he does know is that time has stopped for him, has been stopped for quite a while, and he'd like the constant assurance of it back.  
  
Harry is kneeling by the window, graceful arms and hands resting on the ledge. Neither of them know what to do, awkwardness is much harder with anger lurking in the background, always threatening to show it's ugly face.  
  
Draco considers briefly of casting a warming spell, because he doesn't like shivering, but before he can do anything Harry is back on his feet and suddenly unnatural warm arms are surrounding Draco, hot moist lips pressed against his, burning tears mixing with cold anticipation, creating an electric shock that sends currents through two bodies, mixing opposites so that there is no black and white, no winter and summer, no sun and moon, no anything. Just two boys, one light haired, and the other dark. 


End file.
